


promises

by orphan_account



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John sees through him, knows Roger is a disaster, a mistake of the universe, a boy taught to love by the devil himself.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> i’m back :)

There are many reasons why 15-year-old Roger doesn’t question Peter’s intentions when he’s pushed against the bed.

Peter is two years older than him, their families are friends, and Roger looks up at him with endless adoration. He isn’t sure when he realized he liked boys, even less when he liked Peter, but it probably happened at the exact same moment. The situation they’re experiencing is a replica of what had happened two months ago: after having dinner, Peter led him to his room, where their parents wouldn’t disturb them, and while he showed Roger his record collection, he slid a hand up his thigh. It had been inoffensive at first. Or so Roger thought, having no experience, completely unaware of what he could like or dislike.

By the time Peter’s hand is on his leg again, Roger has already discovered that he does like boys, the feeling of a boy’s lips pressed against that sensitive spot on his neck. Roger has touched other teenage boys, yet every time Peter touches him, it’s different. Despite his initial shock, Roger isn’t innocent, not even before Peter kisses him, insists that he needs him. But Peter is older than him, has been dating one of his friends for three years, and as good as it feels when Peter caresses him with his firm hands, lures him with his firm words, Roger isn’t a fool. He never believes he is important for him.

That’s a thought that always remains, hovers over him since his first kiss to the day Peter leaves for America to attend college. It’s a thought that becomes a feeling, that intensifies when his parents discover he’s gay and forbid him – completely ban him - from mentioning it again. From acting on it.

Roger is certain, after Peter abandons him, that he is the devil. He might have never known what he was if Peter hadn’t shown up in his life, perfect, beautiful, a drug in human form that out of the blue explained all the unresolved mysteries of Roger’s life. Why isn’t he attracted to his pretty neighbour, a nice, gorgeous girl with blonde hair and long legs? Why does he prefer the beautiful boy that ruffles his hair and calls him pretty? And once Peter leaves, questions answered, Roger, is alone and scared. He doesn’t have anyone to remind him that it’s fine, that he can kiss a boy, that he can be in love with a boy.

But it doesn’t matter. Roger isn’t important, and he doesn’t trust boys. He doesn’t trust family. And overall, he doesn’t trust any type of love.

Brian May is a cool guy.

Or that’s what Roger’s best friend, Freddie, promised him. He didn’t explain how he knew Brian, who lives in another city, or gave him any reasons why Roger should trust him, but he was in an urgent need to find an apartment. It had to do, mainly, with the fact that he was on the waiting list for the university, so he received the admission a month ago. He had nothing ready to leave home, and therefore he decided to accept Freddie’s idea without even checking the place first.

What Freddie didn’t tell him, however, was how gorgeous Brian May is. And although Roger can talk to pretty boys, and in fact, he’s really good at it (too much of an expert, Freddie always whines), he becomes speechless in front of him. The specimen that is staring right at him is perfect, piercing green eyes, soft lips and an angelic face that has to have been carved by the gods themselves. Roger doesn’t believe in any god, but if a person like Brian exists, then there must be a superior entity controlling his existence.

“Hi?” he greets, fidgeting at the door. For a moment, the boy wears the ghost of a smirk, as though he realizes the effect he’s having on his new housemate. Roger attempts to compose himself, to not sound like an inexperienced kid going through puberty, voice cracking. “I’m Roger, you must be...”

“John Deacon,” he replies and then, upon Roger’s confused silence, he clarifies with a smile, “Your other housemate. Brian is shopping.”

That answers why Freddie didn’t mention that  Brian , John, is beautiful as fuck. Is this some type of punishment for Roger’s bad behaviour? For sleeping around? He’s weak for cute, beautiful boys, but fancying someone who is going to share a house with him isn’t the ideal scenario.

“Aren’t you going to get in?” John asks him from inside, and it isn’t until he points it out that Roger notices he’s still at the entrance, suitcase in hand. His eyes follow John’s movements, his back view, the curve of his bum and the long, legs, and Roger feels a lump growing in his throat. “Do you prefer sleeping outside as our guard dog?”

Madly blushing, both at the teasing and his own thoughts, Roger steps in. It begins like that.

Roger creates a mental list of the things he learns in the first month living with Brian and John. First, Brian is in love with a girl named Anita, who is a year younger than him, hence Brian left her behind in their town. Even with Anita being absent, Roger stills knows; that’s how grave their relationship is. Their love story, as Roger calls it in a sarcastic tone, sprang ages ago. And Roger doesn’t believe in that shit. Anita must be a nice memory in Brian’s mind, and the time and the impossibility to confess, the impossibility of being together made them idolize each other.

Second, John hates men. Not men in general, just men that hit on him, which is a situation that takes place too often. Even if Roger considers how beautiful John is, the amount of dates he renounces is unbelievable.

Actually, it’s quite hard to ignore John’s perfection, and Roger understands his immense popularity: sometimes he finds himself subtly praising his housemate too, suggestive comments and light touches that don’t go unnoticed by John. It isn’t a rational process, for Roger is drawn to him like he’s dreaming, and though he would prefer not to embarrass himself, aware that he’s going to be rejected, it’s always too late. John always establishes the limits, way more polite with Roger than with the rest. Maybe because they should keep a peaceful cohabitation. Maybe because John sees through him, through his wounds and flaws, and knows Roger is a disaster, a mistake of the universe, a boy taught to love by the devil.

John never smiles when Roger tries to flirt with him, when Roger takes his hand under the blanket while they watch a movie, or when he makes breakfast for him so that he can sleep a little longer. He says, “do you know how many times I’ve heard that?”He sighs, “I’m into serious relationships.” He looks into Roger’s eyes and his expressions screams, ‘I would try, but I know who you really are.’

Roger is aware he’s not an outcast, but it’s hard to remember. When his college life begins, he doesn’t feel that bundle of nerves in his stomach, like the rest of the students on their first day. He doesn’t anticipate the opportunities displayed in front of him, the motivational speeches of the professors, the new friends he will make; instead, he’s only able to feel one thing, so intense that it deafens all his senses: he’s far, far away from his parents, from the fear, from his self-hate. There’s not a single ounce of guilt in his body the first time he whispers sweet words into his classmate’s ear during a party and allows himself to be fucked in the closest bathroom they find. He doesn’t think of his parents like he used to do back in his town every time he even glanced at a pretty boy. There’s just pleasure, an orgasm hitting him so hard, if it wasn’t because he doesn’t want to miss out, and a part of him yells that he has to repeat, repeat, repeat.

Roger isn’t an outcast, but no one reminds him. At home, John and Brian have a stronger friendship than he could ever dream of having with someone else. Brian always denies he misses Anita, yet Roger catches him talking about it with John. They share secrets, confide in each other, and leave Roger out of it. It’s not on purpose. Roger is the one who distances himself, scared of spilling his own secrets, of not being accepted, and though it’s natural for him to suppose his friends will notice it, they don’t. It’s then that Roger realizes how thick his shell is.

“I’m kinda curious about Anita,” Roger admits one day during lunch when he’s alone with Brian and laughs loudly when his housemate chokes on the food at such statement.

They’re eating on the couch since that week it’s John’s turn to clean, but he’s at class and can’t scold them (he loves when John gets all bossy, Roger doesn’t deny it). He has managed his way into Brian’s lap, warm and comfortable, and big enough for him to fit in the circle his legs draw. Brian only accepts cuddling with him if John isn’t around, as though he’s cheating on him, so Roger has jumped on him as soon as he realized they had some privacy. It’s one of those silent codes: John and Roger are banned from doing anything more than eventual hugs and some hand-holding, while Brian can snuggle anyone, even if one of them is kept a secret.

Roger supposes that’s because Brian doesn’t want to see John naked, unlike him.

“Curious about Anita?” Brian paraphrases after coughing, a tinge of panic seeping through at the mere mention of her. He recovers fast, however, and pinches Roger on his neck with the clear intent of hurting him. He grunts, “Don’t be.”

Despite the pain in his neck, Roger doesn’t repress his laughter. He tilts his head back to look up at Brian, although he basically ends up staring at the bottom of his chin. “Is that jealousy?” he taunts, pleased.

Brian scoffs. “Already told you I don’t like her.”

“So if she’s dating someone right now, I don’t know, maybe one of her high school classmates, you’re okay with that?”

Judging the profound, tense silence emanating from Brian, Roger has pushed the right button. Or the wrong button, if he analyzes it from his friend’s point of view.

“I hate you,” Brian whines in a mutter. That always awes Roger, the spectrum of Brian’s personality: he’s sarcastic but very mindful of his words, but when it comes to Anita, he becomes an immature kid that needs love advice, that sulks around until someone cheers him up. “I don’t force you to talk about John.”

There is coldness in Roger’s stomach, and as he dissects that remark, the real meaning behind it, he just thinks about running away. This is a topic he would rather not discuss. Even when he’s alone and his thoughts inevitably float towards John, towards his soft soothing voice and fond, childish smiles, or his vibrant, shameless laughter, Roger blocks it. He prefers to remember the flesh of his thighs, the lines of his stomach when his shirt rides up and Roger can take a peek; it’s easier to accept John wants someone much better than him if Roger sees him only as a pretty carapace.

But that’s a lie. Under the mask, John is pretty too, absolutely gorgeous. And Roger can’t breathe. “Is there anything to discuss him?”

“Roger,” Brian warns him.

“It’s hopeless,”Roger explains, no need to receive the question first. Any friend would encourage him to chase after John, yet Brian doesn’t: he knows more than he shows. There’s an air of fragility between them, one that has been there since the first week, as though both of them are standing on the edge of a cliff, contemplating if they should jump. Roger didn’t know until now that Brian was aware of it as well.

Brian strokes the side of Roger’s face, his hair, his neck, and doesn’t emit a single sound when Roger leans against his hand, mutely asking for more. He’s hungry for touch, that isn’t sexual, that isn’t romantic, and makes him feel like he’s not alone.

Softly, Brian insists, “You don’t know that.” But Roger does. “I won’t ever love anyone.”

That’s the end of it. Brian doesn’t dare to question him further, conscious that Roger’s voice dies with a shade of terrible resolve. Maybe he expects the opposite clarification: that John will never love Roger in any way. But Brian doesn’t understand that’s not the real problem, the reason why John keeps the distance and Roger follows him.

Roger senses Brian’s eyes on him, curious, and even with his secret on the table, somehow he has never been safer in his whole life.

Drunk John is an entirely different person who, to be honest, Roger isn’t very fond of. The party is fun at first, when the three of them are slightly tipsy, laughing at the most nonsensical things and dancing with any stranger that approaches them. Roger loves it this way when they don’t need words to have fun when he giggles and John and Brian follow him as if they understand. When it’s just the moment, no time to ponder, to invent insecurities and doubts. He could laugh at his own pathetic self right now and his friends would play along, telling him that he’s right but that it’s fine.

Surrounded by the loud music, it’s the three of them until Brian bumps into his classmates and they drag him to play some drinking game that Roger isn’t disposed to join. Or rather, he’s preventing John from joining.

“Don’t accept weed from anyone,” Brian nags them as the girl pulls him through the crowded room. Though John nods like the good kid he is, Roger doesn’t, so he screams, “I’m serious!”

Once Brian is out of sight, John turns to playfully glower at Roger. It’s not a rare expression on him, for that’s his way of complaining if they get under his skin. Roger reckons John is too nice to get angry at anyone, and when he’s indeed offended, he tends to be sullen instead of vocally angry. Even while being drunk, he is incapable of letting go of that trait of his personality.

It doesn’t take much for Roger to discover that John does change in other aspects, sincerity transforming into demands and naughty hands. When John encircles his neck and hangs off with a low whine, Roger is petrified. His body reacts on its own, holding John by the waist so that he regains his balance, but that’s a bad idea. The warmth of John’s skin permeates through the clothes, makes his fingertips numb with a penetrating tingling.

“Don’t you go find another boy,” John orders, lips barely pursed in a pout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

He rests his head in the crook of Roger’s neck, no warning, no cure for how Roger loses the ability to argue with himself. Hoping that John won’t remember anything, he doesn’t push away, hands pressing John’s back to drive him closer. And then Joh laughs, and it resounds on his skin, travels inside his system.

John confesses, “I fucking hate myself.”

There are confidences that are meant to be spilt out in a place like this. In a moment like this. Roger doesn’t expect John to hate himself, but as soon as he admits it, Roger knows the reason. John doesn’t believe he’s important either and sees only what the rest made of him: an angelic appearance, and nothing more. Empty inside. And he’s afraid of letting Roger in and being discarded afterwards like that would be the confirmation of his fear.

Roger cradles him between his arms, leaning against a wall, and John allows both of them to break the silent code. It’s just them, they don’t mind how congested the party is; in that corner of theirs, the feeling of John against his body is all that matters. Roger gasps, “You have no idea. You’re perfect.”

Much to his surprise, John laughs again. His nose brushes Roger’s collarbones when he moves to stare up at him, eyes lucid for a second. “Roger, why are you such a mess?” he mutters. “I want you to be okay.”

Because the answer would hurt him, Roger doesn’t respond. Drunk John is free of his sensitiveness, pries and touches the old wounds. In Roger’s mind, Peter’s hand slips on his thigh again, and again, and again.

Roger presses a kiss on the corner of his lips, almost in fear, and when he separates a bit to look at Roger once more, there’s a delicate frown on his face. He asks the magical question, the same question Roger asks himself every day, “Can I fix you?”

Roger yearns for it, but it’s inconceivable, and it’s bad that when John proposes, it feels like it could happen. So Roger lies, “No. I’m not broken.”

Right away, John knows it’s a lie. This time, his chuckle brings all the bitterness possible with it, and John rests his head against him again, giving up, aware that Roger isn’t going to reveal that secret of his.

“You’re a bit broken,” he disagrees, and he makes it sounds like it won’t be forever. Roger closes his eyes, drowns himself in that tiny trace of hope that John’s voice grants him. “I wonder who did it.”

Roger wonders too.

Every time they meet Ronnie and Chrissie, who are long-time friends with Brian, John sticks to Roger like a leech. It’s true it’s quite intimidating to hang out with them, not because they are older than them, or because Ronnie has a characteristic judging expression when Roger says something stupid – which happens often. The issue is that Ronnie and Chrissie fit with Brian so well that, if the three of them are together, Roger and John can’t understand half of their conversations. Roger gets on well with Ronnie though, and they schedule dates to play tennis at least once a week, regardless of the fact that Ronnie kicks his ass every time. Brian tags along too sometimes, but the rest of them aren’t much into sports.

Roger likes it when they are all together. At home, John either chides him or dismisses him as a kid and even if sometimes it looks like they’re progressing, they always return to the starting point. However, in situations like this one, in which Brian isn’t babying him, he searches for shelter in Roger.

“It’s cold,” he excuses himself as he links their arms together, scowling at Roger’s confused reaction.

Chrissie and Brian aren’t close enough to hear him, but Ronnie is, so she bursts into laughter at the justification. The day is ashy, grey clouds blocking the sun, but John’s cheeks are tinted with the most tempting pink Roger has ever seen.

“Shut up,” Roger grunts at Ronnie, who keeps laughing even after Roger pushes her forward so that she walks ahead. John tightens his grip in gratitude, and Roger’s breath hitches at the proximity; he wishes he was always this open. Avoiding glancing at John, he hums, “Then I owe the cold a favour.”

It’s a risky reply because that type of response is what usually seals John’s frankness, which makes him press his lips in a thin line and shake him off. Roger doesn’t know what’s different or when it began to be, but as he dares to gaze at John, the boy has a coy smile painted on his face.

Eyelashes fluttering, John sighs, “Don’t say anything more, Roger.”

The peace is broken when the period of exams arrive. John, the calmest one by far, is unsurprisingly the first one to break down, throwing a shoe at Roger’s head when he leaves the milk carton empty in the fridge four times in a row on the same week. The three of them are stressed, since they have never faced university finals, and none of them can afford to fail. Roger would have to go back home if he did, as he’s living on a scholarship, and that’s the last place he wants to set foot in the whole world.

His management of stress isn’t very exemplary. He knows the consequences, attempts to hold back and remind himself that John is so nice to him, looks so serene having a decent version of him around. Roger really tries, but there are deeper voices in his head that persuade him to think only of himself. And a little bit of self-destruction is indulging when he’s under pressure, a way of releasing his worries and focus on the pain.

The first one that ends up in his bed is a tall, unnamed guy that doesn’t have enough time to introduce himself before Roger proposes him to fuck. He treats Roger like he presents himself: a pastime, a toy that will do whatever in exchange for sex. Roger forgets the name of the second boy as soon as he has his dick in his mouth. After the third, he loses count, nights and days mix in a blur of moans, scratches, bites and books. It’s perfect, for he doesn’t have to ponder about feelings and his schedule doesn’t allow him enough time to regret.

It’s during the second week that, when he wakes up, John is waiting for him in the living room with his arms crossed. Brian is behind him, so confused that it’s obvious John has dragged him there in a fit of rage, but Roger reckons they need Brian so that this doesn’t become a couple of fight. Which, in some sense, it is anyhow.

“I want to make a rule about bringing people home,” John sputters, eyes fixed on Roger’s face as though he would set him on fire if it was legal.

There are hidden words in that statement, in the way his shoulders tense as Roger steps forward, but it’s not necessary to talk about it. Roger isn’t going to be the brave one. He has a man in his bed, and John looks sick, repulsed, not only for tonight but for the rest of the nights too.

It maddens him. He has the urge to corner John and force him to spit out what he really wants to say. That he’s a whore? He knows that. That John hates guys like him, that he hates him in particular? He knows that.

“It’s none of your business if I fuck someone in my room.” Roger smiles like he did when Peter left him, or when his mother slapped him after catching him with his hand in his neighbour’s pants. And then, because he’s aware of the reasons why it annoys John, he defies him, “It shouldn’t bother you.”

Shouldn’t it? John’s gaze says. Yet his mouth talks a different language, plays a different game, “I live here. Those people you fuck in your room have a place themselves too. Don’t come here with them.”

John doesn’t vacillate, at least on the outside, and Brian stares at them with his mouth open, like he’s realizing what this discussion is about. Roger loves Brian, he would very much prefer to keep him out of this mess; he’s going to sweep John along anyway to hell with him, but Brian doesn’t deserve it.

“We live here. It’s my house too. My room,” he reasons, throat hoarse. It’s a bad excuse, because they have a cohabitation policy, and he should be disposed to consider his housemate’s request. Courtesy isn’t his forte because he likes getting on John’s nerves.

John doesn’t react, expression neutral. His gaze roams over Roger for a single second, dissecting him like an insect, and arches a brow, “Do you want me to kick them out by myself? Because I will. Starting from the loser you have in your room.”

That catches Roger off guard. Not because it’s a threat, but because John strides towards his room without waiting for an answer. A part of him is terrified: one thing is to know Roger sleeps with strangers, another is to watch the scene of the morning after; the other part of him wishes John gets hurt and leaves him alone in his misery.

Fear wins, hands shooting up to grab John by the waist. It’s not surprising that he squirms to be released, but Roger is stronger, and she's scared. There’s a temper in the way John looks at him that is new, that informs him that this is his limit, and if Roger continues on this path, it will get ugly between them.

Roger ants, heart hammering in his chest, John’s fragile hips in his hands. “Look, I don’t know what fucking problem you have with sex, but-”

“It’s you who has a problem with sex! This is fucked up!” he yells, interrupting him. The accusation makes him loosen his grip, and John darts away and collides against the wall behind him with a groan. He needs several seconds to process what he has done, the reason why Roger has given up all at once on the attempt to stop him. “I didn’t mean-”

Roger tares at the floor, unable to cope with the sudden pity reflected in John’s eyes. “You meant it.”

It hurts because it’s true, but not only because of that. John is conscious there’s an emotional

switch inside Roger that fails to function, hence he’s stuck on the same mode all the time; there’s a story behind it, something Roger wants to forget about. It’s one of those topics that shouldn’t be spoken of out loud, and though Roger understands John isn’t in his right mind in that instant, it’s a betrayal of his trust.

John realises too late, seizes Roger’s wrist just to be harshly shoved away, and he mutters an apology that reaches deaf ears. Roger encloses himself in his room, ignoring the sleeping lump on the bed, and despite how unsettled he is, there’s strange security in not being exposed to John’s judgement. Of course, he’s safe there, as long as this stranger keeps occupying his sheets; John was just fooling him, he wouldn’t dare to step inside.

As though the situation wasn’t bad enough, Brian leaves the house that night to study at the library. Roger is tempted to follow him, just to avoid dealing with John by himself, but he’s too tired to do so. Hoping that John is embarrassed enough to not make amends just yet, he goes to sleep early, alone, with too much space on the bed for only one boy. The house is empty, since John has passed the afternoon studying outside as well, and Roger hears the precise moment he arrives home, the car that has driven him here, the sound of one of his friends laughing as they say goodbye. By all means, he hears John entering his room, the sound of water as he showers, and right when Roger is sure he’s drifted off to sleep, the steps travel directly to his room.

His door is half-open, so John just has to push a bit to slip in, whispering a sweet, “Roger?”

He doesn’t reply, but the bed shifts under John’s weight when he sits on it without permission. The room smells like John out of the blue, that scent that incites Roger to craziness. Maybe for the warmness, he pronounces his name with, Roger feels the sting of tears in his eyes. Maybe because John cares about him, after all, no matter how much of an asshole Roger is, or he wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“Go back to your room,” Roger croaks out, not ready to have a conversation, another fight.

John doesn’t. He tucks himself under the blanket, settles his slender hand on Roger’s waist and his head against his back, his hair stroking Roger’s nape. He remains in silence for a while, yet Roger makes out his accelerated breathing, the pace of his heart thumping against his backbone. John is a little, delicate creature that Roger isn’t worthy of and shouldn’t touch, and like all the rest of delicate creatures, he’s inevitably hauled towards someone like Roger, who could destroy him in the blink of an eye.

“Is it because you need company?” John questions him, holding him closer, fingers wandering from his waist to his stomach. There he finds Roger’s hands, intertwines one of them with his, and squeezes so hard that he makes Roger feel pure, whole. “Do I have to sleep here for you to stop?”

Roger as never considered that could work. He has never thought of even searching for a stop to his behaviour, but as John reveals it as an option, he’s certain it’s a bad idea. The egoistic self takes over, however, and Roger responds, “If I say yes, will you stay?”

Unexpectedly, John laughs, the sound muffled against Roger’s back. “That’s a no, shithead.”

“I don’t want to make false promises.”

However, Roger yearns to promise something truthful, something he can accomplish just to make John happy, or have him until he messes up again –because he will. John budges, climbs over him to occupy the other side of the bed, and as he falls next to Roger, now face to face, his pupils sparkle with tenacity. Roger intends to take advantage of this moment, knowing John will let him entangle their bodies; but much to his shock, it’s John who hugs him and presses their foreheads together.

Roger tastes John’s breath as he susurrates, “I want you to promise me anything. And then try.”

This is the thing: Roger is wrong about assuming John’s thoughts. Despite his conjectures, John trusts him. He has never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wants to kiss John. Not even his first love. It’s a hunch, which whispers that John’s lips are different, that this boy is different, his miraculous medicine for the wounds.

And then, reading his mind, John erases the scarce distance between them. There are velvety lips on Roger’s, curves that adapt perfectly to his mouth, but John only applies a bit of pressure, as though he’s afraid he will break him otherwise. It’s the most innocent, unadorned kiss Roger has ever received, and nevertheless, he can’t remember anyone else, other lips, another touch that isn’t John’s.

When John’s lets his headrest on the pillow, toying with a smile, Roger gasps, “What’s that?” “My promise.”


	2. Part 2

Roger doesn’t trust love. And two months ago, even after John kissed him, he didn’t believe in it. He begins to believe that summer, when he meets Anita. Or rather, when he analyzes the way Anita and Brian look at each other. They don’t talk much, avoid each other since the first day Anita moves into Ronnie’s apartment, but Roger sometimes discovers them alone, whispering in soft voices and timid smiles. Anita is not what he imagined, however, because she’s everything Brian isn’t; and it isn’t until Roger watches Brian ’s nervousness in her presence that it makes absolute sense. This is what he and John are, opposites from head to toe, a boy ripped in half and a boy who is a one solid piece.

It makes him ponder about promises. Anita and Brian have a silent promise going on, although they are unaware of its existence. It was probably created back in high school, and Roger doesn’t quite understand it since he has never experienced a relationship like theirs.

However, John’s promise doesn’t happen again. And Roger is conscious it’s his turn to reform himself, thus even though he’s unable to stop flirting around, he doesn’t invite many boys to his room. Perhaps a couple of them during the whole summer, which in the end provoke the scariest arguments he has had with John , and that considering John is permissive with him, as though he understands it isn’t as easy for Roger as it looks. Brian isn’t completely oblivious of their problems, but they make sure of fighting and making up when he’s not around, and Roger likes to assume John isn’t resorting to Brian when he needs a shoulder to cry on. Not because it bothers him to imagine John being consoled by Brian while he swallows all his feelings on his own, but because he doesn’t want Brian to hate him too.

The new university year means the time they’re around each other decreases, which results in a better coexistence. It transforms too into something that Roger has never been subjected to: jealousy. The kiss marks a before and an after, and therefore now he can’t stand the guys that swarm around John like bees. He’s jealous of some of his friends as well, especially the ones that propose him to sleep over, because that implies John isn’t in his usual bed at home. Roger has hurt him enough to push him into someone else’s arms, enough to fear he’s going to move on, and what’s better than giving a chance to one of those nice friends of his?

Nevertheless, Roger pours out all those concerns to Anita . At first it isn’t a matter of confiding in him, and it happens just because both are party animals, always together, and a drunk Roger is a very sincere and indignant Roger . Then, he finds out that Anita is a good listener, and from time to time she gives advice that could resolve everything, except because Roger is a coward.

“Stop staring at my ass,” Anita grunts at him when she catches Roger chasing after her around the math section of the library. Contrary to how Anita calls herself an artsy girl and hangs out only with artistic people, she’s majoring in Mathematics. Which never stops Roger from following her around like a puppy would do after his master, instead of going to his correspondent library to study.

“It’s inspiring me,” Roger excuses himself, cackling when Anita hits him with the spine of a book. “It’s giving me ideas.”

Anita squints at him, and then concedes with a mischievous smile, “Okay, turn around, I definitely need ideas for my assignment. I can describe your butt with functions.”

Although the idea of having such representation of his ass is quite tempting, Anita explains, “Ideas to make you and Brian fuck, smartass.”

Anita glowers at him, of course, as she always does when she’s sober and Brian’s name pops up in the conversation. After a couple of shots, the reaction is different, mostly an endless blabbering about how hot Brian is and how little Anita understands him.

“Whatever it is, it won’t work,” she pouts, and Roger pretends that’s gross.

“Why aren’t you two fucking, again?”

Anita huffs, leaves the book she’s holding and takes another one, spinning to scan the library to decide where to sit. It’s empty, anyway, but she strides to the most isolated corner, as though she’s aware Roger is going to bother her for a while.

“It’s complicated,” she says, a code for Brian has problems. She sits down, and then she snaps her head towards Rt like he has just remembered something, smile splendid. “We are throwing a party for Dan this weekend. You coming, right?”

“Dan is...?”

“Our new flatmate,” she explains, probably for the tenth time even if Roger has forgotten. He has important things on his mind, like not provoking John enough to move out, or to kick him out.

“Is he hot?” Roger asks immediately, curious. Not that it matters, because Roger has always had a very specific taste, and after John he doesn’t think he’s going to meet someone as perfect as him. John makes everyone pale in comparison. However, Anita is staring at him with her brows raised, skeptic, so he defends himself, “What? I’m very sex deprived. My dick talks before my brain can think other words.”

“Your dick talks,” Anita snorts, covering het mouth to not laugh out loud. Once she was banned from the library for laughing at Roger’s jokes - and her laugh isn’t very discrete - so it wouldn’t be a surprise if the story repeated itself. “I always knew you had magic between your legs, no way you would get so many guys with that ugly face.”

“I’m gorgeous,” Roger protests, offended. “Anyway, it’s not like I care about the opinion of someone who wants to date Brian May.”

This time, Anita throws a pen at him.

That night, John is waiting for him. He would never admit it, however, since he’s on the couch, a book resting on his thighs, and he doesn’t turn around when Roger opens the door. John is not pretending to read, but he’s entertaining himself while Roger is away: he’s pretending he’s not waiting. It’s one of those things Roger doesn’t need to discuss to know it’s true. This connection they have, a deep understanding of each other, is the reason why there’s hatred between them sometimes. John doesn’t acknowledge him, prideful, so Roger gives into what John is wishing in silence, and approaches him, falling on the couch next to him.

With a scowl on his face, John raises his chin to glance at him. “Where were you?”

Roger wonders if John needed him while he was out, and when he accepts that’s a possibility, he wonders why. “Studying with Anita . Why?”

There’s a light flicker of incredulity in John’s face, perhaps because Roger and Anita together don’t match with the idea of studying. But he doesn’t reply to Roger’s question, and his eyes, now narrowed, roam over Roger’s body slowly. Then, he puts the book aside, and states, “Those jeans are mine. And that t-shirt too.”

Roger reckons he was bound to be discovered some day, and the fact that John has taken so long to realize is unsettling. It’s almost a type of test, stealing John’s clothes to check if he’s paying him any attention, and also a little present he grants himself, since he carries John’s soft scent with him all day.

“Uh. Maybe.”

John sighs, pressing his palm against his forehead, as though Roger is giving him a headache just by existing. “Give them back.”

Trying to not smirk at the chance he’s given, Roger obeys him. It’s evident John doesn’t mean he should return the clothes right now, because he blushes as soon as Roger takes off the t-shirt, cheeks deliciously red. John isn’t familiar with nudity. He either changes clothes in his room while he’s alone or in the bathroom, always locking up. When they went swimming this summer, he made sure to wear a black t-shirt all the time, and complained about the rest not following his example.

Thus, Roger has to mask his surprise when John doesn’t say a word, doesn’t tell him to stop as Roger unbuttons his jeans as well. His gaze is glued to Roger’s torso, and as the guy slips the jeans off, his eyes shift from his chest to his thighs, observing how the jeans hug Roger’s legs in their way down.

Roger as received those glances before, just not from John , who hides his interest for sex like it’s prohibited to even talk about it. It’s almost a honor to have the attention of a boy like John , to be able to incite other feelings in him that aren’t judging and being disappointed in Roger. 

Roger stands up in all his glory, appreciating John’s awe for a bit more, his cherry, parted lips, and hands him his clothes in a bundle. “You’re welcome,” Roger smiles, and his heart flips when John snaps his eyes up to look at him in coyness. “For the show.”

Among the great repertory of bad qualities that Brian has, the one that Roger despises the most is that he sleeps too much. First, that means Brian never makes breakfast for them, though that’s a blessing because John cooks like an angel. Second, it’s hard to drag Brian to parties, or just to hang out at night.

Therefore, when Roger announces they’re going to Ronnie and Anita’s apartment, Brian is already in his pajamas. Roger isn’t sure if he hasn’t been invited directly and had no idea about the plan – which is ridiculous - or he’s just avoiding sharing the same space with Anita . Whatever it is, it isn’t important, because Roger is terrified of walking all the way to the apartment only with John . There’s no doubt they won’t have a happy ending tonight if no one monitors them.

“Mate, I’m serious, I’m not getting dressed up again just to get drunk and play games,” Brian insists as Roger clings onto him with a desperate, pleading expression. “And before you cross that line, it’s not because of Anita.”

Displeased, Roger scrunches his face, because there’s no way Brian is going to accompany them. He can hear John walking around the apartment while he collects both his stuff and Roger’s; no matter how angry they are at each other, John always takes care of him in small ways.

“You are the worst friend ever,” Roger accuses. Vehement, Brian nods, “Yes.”

When Roger backtracks to the living room, he stumbles upon John biting his nails in nervousness. It’s not good. Because it’s Roger who disturbs him, and that’s not the effect he wants to have on John ; he wishes he could be a positive person in his life, not the one who destroys the peace, who makes John yearn for an affection he can’t commit to. Roger aspires to be a better person, for John, but he’s lost without a guide on how to pulverize the toxicity in him. Roger is fucked up, John is whole, and he can’t destroy John’s happiness for his.

“Brian?” John asks right away, pupils shaking.

A part of Roger is stung with that drop of jealousy. Am I not enough? he thinks, but it’s an useless question, because he will never be enough of a man for someone like John. Licking his lips to not spill a bitter reply, he grunts, “He’s not coming. Let’s go.”

In silence, John holds his hand during the walk to Ronnie’s apartment. Despite the lack of conversation between them while they stroll through the streets, there’s no awkwardness. Having John by his side feels right, feels like destiny, but also foretells a dark future in which Roger loses that cherished joy. However, Roger lets both of them be soaked in this moment, when no words are needed, when the warmth of John’s hand on his is all he can focus on.

Only a few hours after meeting Dan, Roger is baffled at how similar they are. Despite the similarities, Dan is more playful, and though he looks innocent, he’s way sharper than him, smarter tongue, less shame. Nevertheless, Roger sees a younger version of himself in him. Or rather, the version he would have been if he didn’t walk on a path of self-abuse. He’s pretty, too, in a way that makes others fall to kiss his feet at first sight. It’s not only about if he’s attractive or not, but about the way he carries himself, the confidence, the blinding smile. Those are tricks that Roger uses as well, and it’s hard to not stare at Dan when he acts that way; Roger is hypnotized upon recognizing his own reflection in another person.

Roger tries to pretend otherwise, but his eyes end up finding Dan all the time, and of course, John catches him. Sometimes Roger would avert his gaze and run into John’s instead, scrutinizing, a discouraged air to them. He fixes it by giving John more attention, hugging him when he has his guard down.

Roger is ready for his promise, but he’s not. He doesn’t accept the drinks when Chrissie offers them, conscious that getting drunk will inevitably bring him to inconvenience John. Drunk promises don’t count, and he’s afraid he will make one if he’s not sober. John wouldn’t care if he was drunk or not.

At some point of the night Dan begins to linger around him, tired of pestering Ronnie and Chrissie and giggling over Anita’s lame jokes. Roger has tried to keep some distance between them, mostly for respect towards John, who seems to be having a real bad time tonight. Roger is pondering if he should cheer him up, attempting to discover the magic key for John’s laughter, though he suspects he won’t be that easy anymore.

But then Dan captures him in the kitchen, puts a hand on his shoulder from behind and, as Roger turns his head to look at him, shows an immaculate, lopsided grin.

“I’ve known you for 4 hours? And you already made John hate me,” he remarks with a fake pout, though he doesn’t sound annoyed at that fact. Indeed, Dan seems to be mildly amused by the situation, as though he’s used to getting on people’s bad side by seducing their other half. “Your boyfriend?”

Roger smiles at the question. He’s not that transparent to others, yet he always forgets it, as the pain sometimes grows so big that he supposes it’s a visible thing. “I don’t do boyfriends.”

Dedicating him a hesitant, suspicious look, Dan agrees, “Yeah. Sure.” And then, after a silence in which Roger opens the fridge to steal some food now that he’s not under Ronnie’s supervision, Dan comments, “I would date him if he was in love with me.”

Regarding the fact that Dan has zero information about John’s personality, and therefore that’s an adventurous affirmation, Roger retorts, “He’s not in love with me.”

However, Roger has no idea if that’s true. John is quiet but mindful, and shows his interest through acts instead of words. Even if John loved him, Roger would never expect to hear those three words coming out directly from his mouth. And less, if they were aimed at him. Roger doesn’t trust words, anyhow, because they bring lies, they manipulated him and his illusions, and they have minimal value in his mind. His parents said they loved him countless times, but that seems so false now that Roger feels like laughing. Peter assured him he was in love so many times he can’t even remember, though a part of Roger never believed him.

Dan pours himself a drink, toasts with Roger’s glass of water and questions, “Are you in love?”

In the end, Roger laughs, and it’s sincere laughter. He presumes that was Dan’s intention when he approached him, so he throws a jeering, pleasing, “You are so fucking nosy.”

And that’s a yes.

Following Dan back to the living room, Roger finds that John is by himself on the couch, hugging his knees, while the girls are on the floor. They’re watching how Anita’s skills to game deteriorate with a bit of alcohol, Ronnie is surprisingly cuddled up with Chrissie’s lap like it was typical for them – and it’s not – and Anita is so close to the tv that her nose may bump into the screen if she moves forward.

Much to his shock, Dan signals him with his head to go with John and, perhaps because he’s not going to be welcomed by the boy, he scurries to the bathroom. Roger sighs before jumping onto the couch, pretending everything is okay, and his chest clenches when John’s stare centers on him.

“Are you drunk?” Roger asks, cautious, disposed to bring John home if the answer is affirmative.

However, John shakes his head to deny, and Roger draws closer, side to side, to rest his head on John’s arm. He isn’t taken aback at that, but Roger is quite shocked when John responds by interlacing their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. It leaves him speechless, and all the things he has prepared to say evaporate in that instant, replaced by an immense ardor in his lungs that doesn’t let him breathe.

Roger records that tiny second of happiness in his heart.

“Oh god, I give up!” Anita exclaims then, throwing the control around the room. Luckily, it lands on one of the cushions Ronnie has placed on the floor before. She wouldn’t be very pleased if he woke up tomorrow and discovered she demolished yet another control. “I’m going to check on Dan.”

When Anita is gone, after several seconds of hitting the bathroom’s door, there’s an uncomfortable silence among them in the living room.

John stifles a laugh against his hand, contented, and Roger thinks that’s the most beautiful sound in the universe. “Brian is going to cry when he discovers this,” John points out.

Humming in agreement, Roger presses John’s hand in his. His skin is smooth and addicting, and Roger hopes someday he can touch other places too, kiss him on the fair skin of his collarbones, on the veins of his neck. He doesn’t mind if his friends noticed his strange behavior, his lack of interest in other guys, but he hopes John did.

“John,” he calls him in a whisper, as though it was dangerous to break that calmness. The only light in the room comes from the TV, and Roger relies on the security that darkness conceals him. “I would stop sleeping around if we were together. And I want us to be together.”

Right away, John tenses up. He doesn’t pull back, however, because physical contact is relaxing for both of them, and it would be harder for them to discuss the topic. It’s better this way, because their bodies can’t lie to each other, and they need honesty.

Releasing an incredulous, almost inaudible laugh, John tells him, “What the fuck are you saying?”

It’s his last chance to draw back. It would be easier for Roger to convince himself that he doesn’t feel anything for John. He could run away, go on with the life he has built for himself, since it doesn’t require any effort from him. Yet it’s worth it, for once, to admit it, “The truth.”

It’s not a promise, because Roger is still unable to reach that level. It’s a fact. Even though John requests more of him, and he trusts he will capable of it in the future, Roger isn’t so sure. At least someone believes in him.

John kisses him again, this time on his temple, and mutters, “I need to think about it.”

Roger’s life is all about lies. The lies he tells those boys he gets under the sheets, the lies he tells himself, the lies he tells his family about his sexuality and, the lies he tells his friends. Some are great lies, and some are small, like denying it’s his birthday when Anita wishes him a happy birthday.

“I know it’s your birthday,” Anita grunts at him, shoving a tiny wrapped box into his chest. She had showed up in his faculty without previous notice, and waited for his lecture to be finished, Dan following her in curiosity – and skipping classes. “I checked it before you changed it, last week, to two months ago, you dumbass.”

The first thing Roger is going to do when he arrives home is to remove his birthday from all his profiles. For now, he holds the present with trembling hands, half happy and half scared that someone remembered it.

“Don’t tell the others?” he attempts. It’s not that he hates this day, but people love showering birthday boys with kindness, and he is certain he can’t handle it without crumbling down.

Anita clicks her tongue and casts a glance towards Dan, who forces an innocent smile, “Don’t tell the others, Dan.”

“No problem,” he shrugs, but then he snatches Roger’s bag, claiming that he shouldn’t be carrying any weight on his special day, and adds, “With a condition: we celebrate it, even it’s just the three of us.”

Let Roger scratch his past affirmation: he does hate his birthday, because there are twenty-four hours to ponder about how alone he is. He would hate having a birthday party, too, but because he isn’t used to anyone worrying about him. He can’t handle affection because he never received it in a genuine way, and even though now he has friends that would give it to him, that would imply confessing a few secrets. He isn’t eager to display the wounds of his adolescence.

“Just the three of us,” Roger accepts, and Dan squeals in enthusiasm.

Since they are together, they decide to have lunch without the others, thus they can plan something for tonight. It’s not that difficult to choose a place to have fun when they all love parties, anyway. The conversation alters its course, as it always happens, because apparently Dan is updated about how much Anita likes Brian. And, also apparently, he loves playing matchmaker.

“You should make him jealous,” he proposes with his mouth full, earning a smack from Anita, both for talking while chewing and for meddling in his non-existent love life.

“That only works in movies. If he likes me-”

“He likes you so much that he would break his two legs if you asked,” Roger interrupts, rolling his eyes. He shots Dan a smirk, and the boy mirrors the gesture immediately, knowing what’s coming, “Or his three legs.”

“If he likes me,” Anita insists, glaring at her friends so that they shut up. “And I date another person, he will be incredibly upset. And his way of dealing with this type of thing is disappearing off the map, so bad idea.”

Taking into account that Anita is right, Dan and Roger give themselves a moment to come up with another scheme. To be honest, Roger is quite envious of Anita’s relationship with Brian. It seems easy to fix, and although it’s about their emotional problems as well, being together is the natural course for them. He and John, that’s another story.

“So what if I show interest in you, but you don’t reciprocate?” Roger suggests, resting his chin on his palm. Now that he has grabbed Anita’s attention, a sparkle of interest in her eyes, he explains, “I can make the lewdest comments about you, you know, he would go crazy.”

While Dan proceeds to force Roger’s repertory of dirty comments out of him, Anita munches on his food, pensive. That’s all Roger needs to set up his plan, because though Anita wouldn’t get involved in tricking Brian, he’s lost about how to approach the older. Living with Brian has taught Roger that he’s hard to approach, unless your name is John, in which case Brian confides like it’s the end of the world.

“Can I tease Brian too?” Dan pops in, and it may be a question, and he may be asking for permission, but the three of them know it’s just for courtesy. Dan is going to do it regardless of their opinion.

Roger won’t pick up the calls.

That’s his first decision when, after lunch, his phone starts ringing nonstop. It’s his second year living by himself, and not with his parents, yet during the first year he made the mistake of answering the calls. He had never been good at missing people, so when he recognized his mother’s number on the screen, he pressed the screen right away, hopeful. Yet, there weren’t nice words exchanged, and after half of an hour, Roger felt like a fool for having believed it would be different, that his parents would appreciate him once he wasn’t by their side.

But he was still gay, and his parents still hated him.

This year, he doesn’t need to hear the list of actions he has to do to redeem himself in front of his family. Look for a nice girl, marry her, have kids. And although he fights that idea every day, it’s not that simple to renounce the love of those who raised him. Of those who, by default, were supposed to love him.

Dan keeps glancing at him in nervousness as his phone vibrates, unasked questions in his gaze, and Roger sends him an apologetic smile every time it happens. Dan wants to help him, but has no idea how to other than dragging him to celebrate his birthday. Anita doesn’t comment anything either, and Roger mustn’t have any success with his artificial smiles, because she suggests Roger can hide in their apartment until they go out tonight. Of course, he takes on that offer.

“Are you sure you don’t want to invite John?” Dan snoops, however, during the course of the day.

The healthy decision to make, he suspects, is to spend the day eating cake and watching movies with Brian and John. But that isn’t going to distract him from his parents. Roger is well aware of what the remedy for that is, and he’s not going to stop it, nor to use John for it or allow him to witness it.

So, as an excuse, Roger explains, “He doesn’t like parties.”

It’s almost midnight when the texts arrive. Not responding a call and not reading a text aren’t the same things, and therefore Roger processes the words on the screen before he realizes he shouldn’t be reading a text from his mom. There’s another one, from Freddie, wishing him a happy birthday and assuring he will visit soon, but it’s his mother’s what remains engraved in his mind.

Perhaps because he’s already drunk, or because the music and the lights – an annoying excessive blue light that this club applies – transform him into a numb, senseless zombie, he throws his phone onto the floor. That, or it slips from his hands, but he enjoys watching how his mother’s words crash against the hard surface. He wishes it was that fast to get rid of them.

Dan turns up next to him in a matter of seconds. He hurries to grab the phone before someone else steals or steps on it, yet he doesn’t return it to Roger, as if he could tell that’s the source of his distress.

The music is too loud, so Dan grabs Roger by the neck to whisper into his ear, “Are you okay?”

And there’s something magical in how he worries. Like he actually cares about Roger. It reminds him of John, of that spark of hope that the boy is able to spur in him. Dan’s fingers on his neck touch him like John’s, and Roger can’t help but think that this is it, that’s the signal he’s waiting for.

With a dry throat, Roger admits, “No.”

It would be impossible to tell who kisses the other first. And it’s impossible because the lines between them are blurred; Dan can read his needs that well because he’s infected with the same problem, even if the origins might not be the same. They are each other, and they help each other. Dan knows that sometimes the only way to forget and forgive oneself is to be in another person’s arms, cheated by the pretense they are loved. It’s temporary, it’s effective, and though Roger suspects sex wouldn’t be necessary to reach that zone of peace, he doesn’t know any other way yet.

Dan kisses him, and Roger doesn’t feel like crying anymore. Dan caresses him, and Roger doesn’t hate himself that much. Every time Roger kisses a boy for the first time, it feels like he won a battle against his parents. And later that night, when he’s buried between Dan’s legs, the boy pleading for more under him, Roger remembers he’s in love with someone else. And that it’s fine, and boys can be loved too. And there’s someone who loves him, even if he’s a failure at everything he tries, or even if he doesn’t deserve it.

“Stop whining.”

If it was as easy as obeying Dan’s orders, Roger would stop. But the morning brings two deathly elements: sobriety, with its complementary hangover, and realization, with its complementary regret. Roger can’t blame Dan for it, not even if he was part of the mistake too. Dan is single, doesn’t have a special person he likes except a tiny crush on a guy that he mentions once in a while, and last night he simply did what Roger’s sanity required of him.

Dan is the first one to get up, but by the time he does, Roger has been awake for two long hours. Don’t you dare to pity yourself, he warns before disappearing into the bathroom for a shower. And that’s the only reason why Roger doesn’t feel sad about himself; he pities John instead. So when Dan is clean and manhandling Roger out of the bed because he has to change the sheets, he gets fed up with him sulking about what happened last night.

“You don’t understand,” Roger complains, hiding his face in his hands. Which isn’t true, because there isn’t possibly anyone who gets him better than Dan does. Especially after all the things Roger spilled yesterday, letting himself be carried away by the alcohol and the sadness. “This time I really fucked up.”

It’s clear Dan has another opinion, since he just shrugs, “It’s done. You needed it.” And that’s true, too, but it doesn’t diminish the gravity of his bad decisions. When Dan ruffles his hair, allowing him to whine a bit more, he adds, “John is going to be hurt, and you have to tell him no matter what. But you needed it.”

Helpless, Roger stares at Dan as he creates a bundle with the sheets. It’s kind of strange, standing in his underwear in the same room with the guy he slept last night, the guy who also gives him love advice and understands his weaknesses. Dan is his friend, a new type of friendship Roger has never had. He’s the reason why Roger thinks that, as everything disintegrates, he can build something new from the ashes.

“I don’t want John to forgive me,” Roger confesses, and the heavy weight on his shoulders disappears in an instant.

Dan draws a motherly smile, much to Roger’s surprise, but then he pushes the sheets against Roger’s chest so that he takes care of them. “I know. But he will, sooner or later.”

Roger’s life is about lies, but that doesn’t mean he’s disposed to lie to John. It’s a big step for him, and also a step that can destroy the path of peace he has tried to establish. Perhaps because Roger has never been happy, he ignored that it’s a brittle feeling, like a house of cards that collapses with the wind of a simple whisper.

He tells John right away, at the first moment of the day that Brian leaves for his classes. He’s not expecting immediate forgiveness, and for sure he doesn’t believe John is going to react well to the news. There isn’t silence, and there is no shouting. He doesn’t remember which words he uses to explain himself, nor if he mentions something about his parents; it doesn’t matter, anyhow, because Roger has run out of his own pain. John hasn’t, however, so he locks himself in the bathroom, refusing to listen to him anymore.

Roger its on the couch, dry eyes, and hears him cry.

Contrary to what Roger had supposed, John doesn’t release his anger on him, but he doesn’t rant to Brian either. Roger is certain because if he had done it, Brian would have punched him in the face. It all leads to one conclusion: even if John hates him, if he’s hurt, he stills protects Roger . At first, John doesn’t speak to him at all, but then he begins to pretend in front of Brian, limiting their conversations to good morning, good night, and did you have a nice day? Roger can’t bear with it that well. When he looks into John’s eyes, he’s conscious of what he has done, how he has stripped the sweetness and innocence off of someone so perfect.

And yet, John protects him with his silence.

The house asphyxiates him, and it might not be a good solution, but Roger escapes by crashing Dan’s apartment. They don’t have sex, of course, because neither of them is that much of an idiot. There isn’t that connection between them, in any case. It’s a bit odd to be woken up by Ronnie in the morning, soft voice bringing them back from their dreams, but Roger definitely likes it better than waking up alone, cold sweat at the perspective of seeing the hate in John’s eyes. Anita joins them from time to time, the three of them squashed in the bed, and some nights Anita simply drags her mattress to the room so they can be together and comfortable. Perhaps that’s the first moment Roger realises he does have friends, and that if Brian knew what he’s going through, he would act like this as well.

“You have to attend my gaming competition if you want to sleep in this apartment for free,” Dan demands one morning, after realising Roger has eaten the last cupcake that was left. “ Dan said “Yes. I’m inviting John too, because he doesn’t need all the space you’re giving him.”

“What?” Roger laments, a pout on his face though that trick never works on Anita. “What if I need space?”

“We need space in this apartment,” Dan remarks, rolling his eyes. The lack of cupcakes gets everyone mad in this place, Roger notices. “And I need to live a little, if you know what I mean. You’re like the typical mother-in-law cockblocking me.”

His friends have honorable intentions, but Roger fears he’s not ready to face John. What if Dan is wrong and John is never able to forgive him? What if Roger crossed the limit, and there’s no way to fix his misstep?

“You don’t have to worry,” Dan continues, as though he has read his mind. “John probably hates me, not you, so I’m the one in danger of being stabbed with a fork from behind.”


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for slow updates

Despite the music playing on his phone, and his own voice accompanying it, Roger can hear Brian and John talking in the living room. They converse in hushed whispers, shaky tones, searching for an intimacy that Roger’s presence in the house steals from them. Roger feels like an intruder. Rather, he is one.

He counts the time for Dan and Anita to arrive, exchanging texts so that he doesn’t have to endure an awkward moment of silence with John and Brian as they wait for the car. Already dressed up, he sits on his bed, anxiety creeping on his skin, until the horn of Anita’s car blows from outside. He shares the backseat with John and dan, and luckily Dan is loud and animated enough to distract him. To make him pretend he’s okay, too, and not ruin Anita’s night. He observes Brian in the front seat, nervous but glowing, and not even John ignoring everyone and looking out the window can consume that flame of happiness.

At first, Roger ruminates that he’s lucky of having Dan by his side tonight, since he sticks to him like gum. But after almost one hour, he realises Dan is doing it on purpose for some reason, and that reason is John. It begins during the tournament, when Dan holds onto his arm, leans his head on his shoulder, and from time to time pecks him on the cheek or on his hand. Those are gestures they share when they’re alone, searching for a type of friendship they can’t enjoy with the rest, given their respective notoriety. In that moment, there’s nothing Roger can do to scold him without provoking a fuss (because Dan isn’t going to stay silent), so he just avoids glancing at John. It’s better if he doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“What are you doing?” Roger protests, however, once the tournament has come to an ending. It’s already dark outside, and they’re walking ahead of the rest. Roger has caught Brian and Anita holding hands, and then just intertwining their arms, and has dragged Dan forward to leave them alone. Which in the end it’s not to avail because Jobstays behind too, preferring their company to Roger and Dan’s.

“Making John explode,” He admits, no trace of shame on his face. Then, he pets his own features with his fingers, a slight frown of worry. “Do you know if he punches hard? I love my nose too damn much.”

Although the situation is worrying rather than funny, Roger bursts into laughter.John wouldn’t hurt a fly, even if he has a temper, but Roger has only experienced it directed towards him. The most violent thing John has done is throw things at him and run around the house chasing after him, but he always starts mad and ends up laughing. Roger does miss that simplicity, when their fights were about petty, domestic disputes.

“I want to get so drunk I won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow,” Roger divulges when they’re in the bar, disregarding the glare Brian and John send his way. It’s likely that they have to bring him home if that happens, anyway, and they hate his drunk self.

“Don’t,” John threatens him, barely holding the eye contact, and that’s the first word John has told him all night.

However, Dan is fast to end the conversation and strokes Roger’s hair, a permissive giggle escaping his lips. “Get drunk all you want, I’ll carry you home.”

Roger’s about to reply with a sarcastic remark, except Dan kicks him under the table and he suddenly understands why he’s acting so sweet to him. When he flicks his gaze upwards, he discovers John’s dark eyes glowering at Dan across the table. He’s so concentrated on his own thoughts – he looks like he’s planning Dan’s death - that he doesn’t notice Roger staring at him in awe. John is usually closed up, hard to understand, but Dan has driven him to a mood where he either doesn’t care anymore or he’s unable to conceal his feelings.

Then, shocking everyone around him, John spits, “He’s not going to leave with you.”

Dan is right: John doesn’t hate Roger , he hates Dan. When he locks gazes with John, there’s the beginning of a challenge on his face, as though somehow he’s speculating if Roger will contradict him or not. He doesn’t say a word or move an inch, because agreeing or nodding would placate John. And he loves what’s happening right now, since John isn’t hurt anymore, but angry, and that’s a new phase he hasn’t witnessed before.

All of sudden, Brian and Anita leave quietly, yet that doesn’t worry Roger much. Dan whistles and screams a couple of indecent comments at them, but the pair doesn’t even glance back. It cheers Roger up to know Brian and Anita are brave enough to be alone, unlike him. Everyone is moving on with their insecurities and flaws, but Roger remains frozen in time, wishing his current self is enough.

When Roger directs his attention back to the table, it’s too late for him to do damage control. Dan is talking, index finger playing with his cup, deadly eyes drilling Jobn, “...don’t you think you should leave too?”

One thing is clear: Dan should become an actor, if his false nonchalance is anything to go by. For a second, Roger feels like he’s the main character in a cheesy movie, the two prettiest boys he knows fighting over him. The imperfection in that movie of his is that Dan doesn’t really like him and John doesn’t even want him around.

Despite the contempt, John isn’t pissed, at least not on the outside. He examines Dan in confusion, as if he has heard wrong, and then he turns to Roger , even more baffled. “What?”

In response, Dan smirks, and all of a sudden John is a little lamb about to be eaten, shrinking in his seat. It’s evident he hasn’t imagined Dan would defy him this way, especially because John is putting himself out of the way so that Roger forgets him. Or so Roger thought until tonight, for John shouldn’t be acting like he cares.

“One of us shouldn’t be here. And it’s not me.”

If Roger had known what was going to happen, he wouldn’t have prevented it either way. Dan must have pushed a secret button inside John, one that strips him away from his civil, good boy behavior. If he was disoriented and a bit scared an instant ago, now he’s standing, chin raised and back straight, and grabbing his own drink. He doesn’t blink an eye as he pours it all over Dan’s head, and when there’s none left, he takes Dan’s and repeats. And then he grasps Roger’s , not minding that both of them are staring at him with their mouth open, and empties it on Dan’s head as well.

“That’s fine,” he concludes, setting the glass back on the table and wiping his hands on his jeans. He observes Dan with mirth in his eyes, and Roger knows him well enough to detect he’s proud of what he has done, beyond happy. He wonders for how long John has been growing the urge to attack Dan in any way. “I had no interest in staying.”

The advantage of being a liar is that he can identify any other person’s lie. It shouldn’t have been very difficult regardless, because John is vulnerable and shaky, and using words as a shield can’t trick Roger anymore. For John, the only person that must be out of the equation is Dan, and a part of him might be yearning for Roger stepping in and stopping the fight. A part him might even yearn that Roger kisses him. But it’s too soon, although he ignores that, to forgive; it’s not about time, but about how Roger has to confide in him, and it will forever too soon if he doesn’t take a decision.

“You can leave, then,” Rogerhears himself saying, not daring to look at John.

There’s a moment of deep silence, a consequence of the abrupt reply, and Roger fixes his attention on the table. He still captures the image of John’s frame in front of him, petrified for a second, before picking up his things and darting off. He does leave, without a goodbye, without shouting at Roger for being an asshole. John is that type of person, and that’s why Roger is addicted to him.

Dan keeps him company that night, the heat of the club they choose drying his clothes, even if they become sticky and hardened. When he’s drunk, Dan doesn’t mind a tiny bit. They allow other people to buy them drinks, and while Dan makes out with a guy, Roger just flirts a little, swallows thoughts of John through alcohol. He has reached a point in which, not being sober, he still despises the idea of touching another man that isn’t John. John , who was jealous of Dan and cried for him, who must be at home right now, perhaps hating every fiber of Roger’s body.

Roger till ignores which one is the right decision, if he can make John happy or if he should push him far away from him. For sure, John would eventually forget him. Roger doesn’t have that magic factor to be needed in others’ lives. That’s why he likes Dan so much, because both of them are this way, heart full and empty at the same time, with a subtle certainty that they won’t be loved since they have defective pieces.

Tonight, Dan favors him over the stranger he could hook up with, and walks with him home. None of them is sad over it, but they aren’t happy either. Roger feels a bit nostalgic while they return to his apartment, and it isn’t until Dan has fallen asleep in his bed, holding onto his arm as if Roger was a giant teddy bear, that he realizes why.

Nostalgia is there, like fingers clutching his heart, a knot in his chest, because he’s saying goodbye to a part of himself.

The house is immersed in a somber atmosphere when Roger wakes up, Dan curled up against him. They forgot to change into their pajamas last night, so without bothering Dan, the first thing John does is showering and wearing clean clothes. The thin walls allow him to hear Brian and John in the house, like a background murmur, but Roger doesn’t want to wonder what they are talking about. Considering he wasn’t very cautious when he arrived home, John must be aware that he brought Dan with him. Of course, he didn’t think of the consequences and assumptions that could create, but once the effect of alcohol is gone, he curses himself for it.

Anyway, he’s supposed to meet his friends for a tennis match in the morning, so he prepares his best happy façade for the day. In an attempt to avoid running into John, he sits back on the bed, pulling up the sheets to tuck Dan in properly. The moment he hears someone opening the main door, he prays it’s John who left and not Brian , and steps out of the room.

Of course, he bumps into John as soon as he’s out, both of them halting at the view of each other. Though it’s useless, Roger hurries to close the door behind him, hiding the sight of Dan in his bed, but that colours John’s face with bitterness. Sometimes, John is unable to understand him at all, but other times, like this one, he sees through Roger as though he is transparent.

There are no good mornings, just a tense silence before John spits with fire in his eyes, “You don’t have to stop yourself, you can sleep with him.”

It should be like a slap on the face, but Roger doesn’t feel anything. At this point, there’s barely any word that could influence him to feel guiltier, maybe because he has reached the limit. He’s about to deny he has slept with Dan, though, until he realises John already knows that for some reason. It could be blind faith in him, but Roger isn’t that delusional; not even he trusts himself that much.

As Roger steps closer, John doesn’t draw back, just stares into his eyes with a fierceness that is foreign to him. Roger feels that strength on his own skin, wishes John would share it with him. Yet it’s fake, and only when Roger is close enough to detect that, he decides he shouldn’t play this game John has tried to start: a game that would pull them apart.

“I’m not going to,” he assures, swallowing the trail of thoughts that fight for his attention. He wants to tell John things he wouldn’t be able to rectify later, so he bites his tongue and asks instead, “Are you jealous?”

John raises a brow at him, almost insulted. “Jealous?” He pronounces it slowly, tasting how it sounds, or perhaps for John to feel the weight of the word. “Don’t treat me like I’m crazy. I have reasons to be angry. And jealous.”

It’s not a surprise. They don’t have that type of secret between them: John needs him, maybe loves him, and Roger feels the same, despite not showing it with his behavior. It’s not as easy as loving each other, still, and Roger thinks John believed otherwise in the beginning.

However, their problems are caused by secrets. By Roger’s inability to confide in people, to accept the fact his parents hate him for being gay, which transforms his sexuality into something to be ashamed of. For a long time, he has blamed Peter for his lack of capacity to get into a relationship, to be faithful and to even allow himself to fall in love. But in this dark hall, with John’s delicate face, vulnerable eyes in front of him, Roger admits it’s not Peter’s fault. A part of him always desired to comply his parents’ wishes, convincing himself that there was a chance he could marry a girl and be happy even though he isn’t straight. So if he was going to form a family with a woman, there wasn’t anything bad in fucking men while he was young.

That’s it, until John appeared. Roger has savored freedom, real happiness in the shape of a skinny boy, the most beautiful boy, inside and outside, he has ever met, and now he can’t go back to his initial plans.

Before he can process what he’s going to confess, Roger’s mouth moves in its own, “I have something to tell you.”

John doesn’t identify the gravity in his intonation, how his voice trembles with those few words. “If it’s another thing about Dan-”

“It’s about my parents.”

John gazes at him, really gazes at him. There’s a spark in his eyes, a tinge of fright, a bit of adoration. Roger can only imagine how he would react if he kissed him, pushing him against the wall of the hall, without revealing his background. Would John comply, aware of how fragile Roger is right now? Would he reject him because he would suspect it’s a trick to tangle him up further in Roger’s web?

Roger can’t kiss him. When John nods at him, he has left his rancor behind, as though it doesn’t matter that Roger has slept with dozens of boys as long as he reveals his wounds for John, and only for him. There’s no one else in front of whom Roger would bare himself. It’s an act beyond love or romance, and John seems to understand that.

“Fuck, can you stop smoking? I don’t want to smell like a spillway all day.”

It’s always bad news to find Anita with a cigarette in her mouth, but somehow Roger isn’t surprised to see such scene when they meet for lunch. At least, because after playing tennis with Brian and Ronnie, he’s updated of what exactly happened with Anita last night. It’s strange to live the two sides of the coin; one, with Brian being insecure about Anita’s feelings for him; the other, with her piling up her frustration, so enamored with Brian that she wouldn’t be able to grasp the concept of Brian thinking she deserves better.

Until now, Roger has managed to have a very productive day. He has talked with John, which still makes his legs tremble because of the memory of their entangled hands, of John’s arms, scent and comfort when they hugged. It wasn’t a conversation, per se, but a monologue, because Roger spoke and John listened. There wasn’t anything that he could comment on. His way of conceding acceptance was fulfilling enough, and Roger doesn’t need other than his little gestures of affection to know he has made the right decision.

However, it has been a stressful morning, and the image of Anita smoking relaxes him. Anita is his escape, for she doesn’t take life so seriously. She curses and complains and begs Roger to solve her problems, but she’s never serious about it.

When Anita locks eyes with him, she immediately frowns, whether it’s because Roger is chiding him or because she has been waiting for him for too long. “He sent me home, what the hell?” she explains, as if that’s enough reason to succumb to smoking. “I fucking told him to come home with me. That was a clear invitation for sex. And he sent me home. In a taxi. I hate him.”

Roger miles, patting Anita on the shoulder. Sometimes Anita is dumb enough to believe the way to Brian’s heart is between her legs, or that perhaps that Brian only wants sex from her. Roger is sure that deep inside, she is aware that’s not true, but she takes desperate resolutions.

Anita is still pulling a face at him when she suddenly transforms, lips drawing a smirk. Maybe it’s his silence what has given Roger away, or perhaps that he’s not proposing crazy ideas to cure her poor soul. Roger warns her, “Don’t look at me like that.”

She swings the cigarette between her fingers and blows the smoke upwards, still amused, “What did he tell you?”

Of course, Roger can’t spill that Brian has self-esteem issues and feels inferior to her. Anita isn’t stupid, and even if Roger has lived with Brian for two years now, Anita knows him better.

So, with a shrug, Roger just explains, “Brian is a bit prudish, you know that.”

His friend laughs like that’s the best joke she has heard in years. And Anita’s laughter is contagious, so Roger joins her, forgetting the stress of the past days, the sleepless nights he has spent. There, in front of the restaurant they chose, both of them look like they are in their own crazy world.

“No, I don’t know that. I have caught him staring at my ass countless times,” she announces, grinning when she realises Roger is frowning at her, skeptical. Needless to say, Roger doesn’t observe Brian enough to notice that kind of signals; he just witnesses how he blushes at any mention of Anita, and runs away if he’s around when possible. Stepping on her cigarette, she puts it off and continues, “And well, He’s a bit overwhelming sometimes.”

Roger its lightly hits her to shut her up, not able to contain his laughter, “You’re lying. That’s not the pure Brian I know.”

Not disposed to discuss if Brian is a horny bastard or not, Anita ignores him and whines, “I can’t believe he sent me home. He should have taken advantage of me.”

Roger wonders how much Brian loves Anita to not have jumped on the chance of an easy hook-up. His friend doesn’t comprehend why, and maybe Roger himself wouldn’t have been empathetic with that decision. Yet now he is. If John showed up drunk in his bed, asking him for sex, Roger wouldn’t give in. That’s the right way to fuck someone you don’t care about, but the mechanisms are different when you have slept with enough people to consider that sex isn’t that important. And it seems incredible that it comes from Roger’s thoughts, since he blabbers about sex all the time.

“If you had grabbed him by his dick, he wouldn’t have had the guts to reject you,” Roger jokes, erasing all those occurrences from his mind. Imagining Brian’s face if she had palmed his crotch makes him bend over with laughter for several seconds. Once he has recovered his breath, he adds, “He would have come in his pants right away, probably.”

Anita bursts into laughter too, eyes crinkling up in happiness. She was about to light up another cigarette, but for some reason Anita’s words make her forget, and she slips it back into its box, “I love you.”

“Because I’m very lovable,” Roger replies right away. It’s a defense to not process those words, and Roger has to swallow the lump in his throat. Anita says I love you so easily, with such casualty, and however it’s the first time Roger has ever heard him do so. Also the first time a friend has told him that.

Perhaps noticing Roger doesn’t sound as confident as usual, she pokes him in his ribs and smiles up at him, “Let’s eat. You have stuff to tell me, right?”

Roger isn’t an idiot. Well, sometimes he is, but that’s mainly when he’s under too much stress or has drank tequila by accident – or because Dan has dared him to. In short, Roger isn’t delusional enough to suppose John’s attitude towards him is going to change from one day to another. John doesn’t shower him in kisses in the morning or makes him breakfast, like he used to, and mostly sticks to Brian. At first, it doesn’t bother him, because he is used to be the third wheel in their house, and after all, he has been crashing at Anita’s apartment for several days. Returning to his own house gives him odd vibes, caused by the ephemeral glances stolen between him and John, moments of intimacy that neither of them could deny. They function like that, in long silences and dilated pupils, but it doesn’t upset Roger.

However, when John opens his mouth, it is to shoot Roger down and bury him five feet under. If Roger asks him to buy groceries, he answers Dan should do it. If Roger compliments him, John remarks that he must be telling those nice things to Dan too. But often John has to cover his lips with his hand, and Roger suspects there’s an embarrassing, beautiful smile behind it. John is just toying with him.

Roger doesn’t surrender. First, because he adores the way John freezes for a second when he praises him; second, because he can’t control his own mouth. Therefore, one morning in which he wakes up uncharacteristically early, and finds John in the kitchen only in an oversized t-shirt, he’s unable to hold back a, “How can you be this pretty?”

Johnhasn’t detected his presence until now, given that he jumps back, the glass of water almost sliding out of his grasp. With round eyes, he stares at Roger as though he’s facing a ghost, but it only takes him a few seconds to compose himself.

“But not as pretty as Dan, right?” he fires back, raising a brow at him.

Instead of acknowledging the provocation, Roger drums his fingers on the counter, pretending he’s debating within. Every time John attacks him with one of those questions, Roger opts for reassuring him. So, tired of playing this game, Roger responds instead, “Of course not.”

Speechless, John gazes at him in shock, lips parting. If he was getting over his hatred towards Dan, for sure he regains all of it back in that moment. He sets the glass on the counter with a harsh bang, and growls, “Do you want to die?”

“Do you want me to die?” Roger bats his eyelashes at him with fake innocence. Then, he places a hand on his own chest, solemn. “Because you’re killing me.”

“It’s too early for this, Roger.”

Roger should be a bit more decent, but it’s not his fault John is so distracting. The t-shirt barely reaches his thighs, and he can’t help but to stare at them. And those are delicious thighs, which John keeps hidden even in summer, thus Roger isn’t ready to defend himself.

“You’re right,” he hears himself agreeing, eyes immovable. Just when John coyly juts his thighs together, Roger manages to look up at his face, where he finds the slightest hint of a blush. “We should go back to bed. And I mean we, together.”

If that’s a shocking proposition, John doesn’t show it. He inspects Roger with calculating eyes, though his awkward stance diminishes his seriousness. “That’s not-” he begins, unsure. His stare wanders from Roger to the counter as he mutters, “If Brian realises...”

There’s no room for interpreting that as a refusal. If Brian is the problem, then there is no problem. Roger is already walking towards John’s bedroom as he blabbers he didn’t mean it like that, a stuttering mess that is far from fitting someone like John, a perfectly decent boy. But after a few seconds, John follows with a soft groan and frowns when he finds Roger getting under his sheets without any shame.

“Come here,” Roger demands with an annoying grin. He pats the little spot he has left on the bed, on purpose just so that John will be closer to him. Recognizing the seed of doubt, Roger hurries to vow, “I swear we can pretend this didn’t happen.”

John nods, but both of them are aware that’s not true. There are things that they won’t ever be able to erase, and this is one of them. Just like they can’t ignore their feelings for each other, despite hurting because of them, Roger isn’t going to forget that how John looks in that instant, when he huddles against him. It’s odd that it’s John who hugs him first, his arms holding him like Roger is the one who needs the reassurance. His fingers brush his hair as Roger presses his face against John’s chest.

“You make everything so complicated,” John laments with a sigh.

Roger can’t contradict him. John left the path open long ago, but that seemed so simple that he was afraid it was a trap. He took a detour instead, the worst one, because it wasn’t possible that someone loved him in a sincere, unselfish way.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and he doesn’t remember if it’s the first time he’s apologizing, but it feels like it is. “I’m so sorry.”

John doesn’t react. Perhaps he has dug so much into Roger’s personality that he anticipates his words, his acts, and if that’s the case, Roger doesn’t understand why he hasn’t escaped yet. He’s a mess of a person, right? And John has all his aims in life clear and decided, doesn’t hesitate when he wants something, and as he has proved, he’s brave enough to risk their friendship, to be in pain or whatever it takes them to be together.

“It’s fine, Roger ,” he assures in the end, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Although Roger often pretends to be oblivious of his friends’ situations, that doesn’t mean he is. He’s the asshole, the insensitive one from whom you wouldn’t expect support. But some of his friends know that he doesn’t work like that, and therefore when Anita needs to rant, she doesn’t care about Roger’s famous, assumed lack of tact. That, or she’s decent enough to not whine to her cousinabout how much he wants to have sex with Brian.

Roger supposes Anita is going to have a serious talk with him, given that he doesn’t invite Dan to tag along. But then, when they’re in the cinema, trying to pick a movie to watch, Roger discards that idea. She isn’t as animated as usual, not upset either, but only grouchy.

“Bring him to me,” she whines for the ninth time, pretty uninterested in which movie Roger has chosen. “He’s avoiding me.”

“Are you that horny?” He jokes, pulling a face. However, he allows Anita to cling onto his arm like a kid whose mother doesn’t want to give her sweets. “Did you approach him again?”

For a moment, Anita glares at him, no need to voice out that Roger is a fool. But then she pouts and mumbles, “I can’t approach him. He hurt my pride. And anyway, I’m asking you to bring him? That’s a way of approaching him.”

It’s her sad face what convinces him to not roll his eyes and refuse. Brian isn’t dealing with it in a healthy way either, but Roger wouldn’t inform Anita about that. Of course, all this is Brian’s fault, and Roger isn’t the best matchmaker they could have, but he’s the only one who is disposed to help. John is unconditionally on Brian’s side and Dan would screw things up further.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Roger gives in with a sigh. Brian isn’t going to listen to him just because Roger tries him to, so he has to strain his brain to come up with some type of bribe. It’s worth it because immediately Anita’s mood changes, a bright grin where the pout was a second ago. “Last chance, and then you’re on your own.”

She laughs so hard at Roger’s serious tone that she scares the lady ahead of them in the line for the tickets. After a short apology, she tiptoes to whisper, “I’ll grab his dick, then.”

Like another usual Friday night, Roger discovers the two losers he has as housemates on the couch. He’s pretty sure both of them have spent the whole day inside, although it was sunny outside, and Roger will never comprehend why they wouldn’t take advantage of it.

Brian s focused on one of his books, and John has his head on his lap, his fingers quickly moving over his phone screen. Even if it leaves an uncomfortable feeling in Roger’s chest, he admits they share a friendship that Roger would like to experience at least once. John looks so content and calm thanks to Brian, and Roger doubts he can ever induce such happiness in him.

“You’re impossible,” Roger complains, eyes on Brian in an attempt to ignore how jealous he feels right now.

His friends glower at him, Brian in reproach and John with disapproval. There’s no hint of the boy who cuddled him back to sleep days ago, yet Roger knows it wouldn’t take much effort to strip him of that pretense.

“You go hang out with your boyfriend,” John spits at him, possessively brushing his cheek against Brian’s leg. “The adults are having their time alone here.”

Despite being conscious that John is playing with him right now, getting on his nerves so that Roger breaks down, he’s not patient enough to deal with him. He drops his bag on the floor, next to Brian’s , and walks towards them with his hands on his hips.

“John, be a good friend and don’t let him confine himself at home,” he chides, though it’s strange to act mature in front of someone who bosses him around daily.

“I’m not his mum,” John bites back. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from his phone screen, however, and Roger identifies that as a sign of resignation. “Also, Anita could stop being a chicken too and come here. I don’t get why it has to be Brian.”

Roger isn’t shocked.

“Because he’s the one who always ruins everything?” he reasons. Brian gasps, offended. “I’m still here, thank you.”

“I don’t care, you see, because you are coming with me tonight.”

There’s irrefutable fright on Brian’s expression for a second. Roger doesn’t pity him, because he has no reasons to be afraid considering how much Anita loves him. It’s a fight against himself, again, just like Roger’s is too.

“I’m not,” he croaks out, eyes round like marbles.

“You don’t even know what I’m doing tonight.”

“I bet Dan,” John mutters, and both Brian and he laugh, not minding that Roger is so miserable about that.

But he disregards that jab, since John is using the exactly same fact as a weapon that could destroy him if Roger wielded it. He has been forgiven for his mistake, all of them actually, but John won’t forget it soon. Roger doesn’t want him to do it, and he hopes someday he can be proud of how many obstacles they went through.

“I’m meeting Aniya and, yes, Dan too.” It makes him anxious to talk about Dan in John’s presence, and suddenly he feels his mouth dry, words stuck. He has no option but stare at Brian, erasing the thought that John is observing him with those grey, beautiful eyes of his. “And you’re coming with me because I took your laptop, with all your uni papers and books and everything, and I’m not giving it back unless you obey.”

“You robbed me?!” Brian exclaims, scandalized, sitting up so fast that John yelps in pain for the sudden position.

Instead of answering, Roger walks away as fast as he’s able to. He would have stayed a bit more to annoy Brian, yet there’s a perturbing sensation inside of him, like hands tearing his skin apart. He’s familiar with it, but he has practiced enough to push away the memory of his parents, the correlation of how much he loves John with how he’s going to lose his family for it. He has to remind himself that, unlike his parents, John loves and cares for him, and he has all the power to make him happy or to pulverize him.

Perhaps Anita didn’t have that much faith in Roger’s skills to persuade Brian, because she seems absolutely shocked when they step into the bar. It’s hilarious how Brian tenses up as soon as they meet gazes, but before Roger can calm him down, John is already murmuring something that does the job.

It’s just Dan and her waiting for them,

thanks to Dan, who rushes to give Brian a sonorous kiss on the forehead, the tension dissolutes, though not completely. Roger makes sure he sits between John and Dan, since he fears another incident takes place again, like the last time they hung out together.

Their friends are already bullying Anita by the time Roger pays them attention, so he joins the fun. He isn’t sure when the things divert and become a discussion about her and Brian’s love life, but then Anita is confessing she was dating someone two months ago. And Brian is mad. Jealous. And though Roger attempts to lift some weight off their shoulders with a casual comment, they spiral down so fast that it’s to no use.

Roger should have seen it coming, but he didn’t: Brian and Anita leave, maybe to sort the fight out, maybe to spoil their relationship further. With those topics, one can never know the outcome. The real problem now for him is that he’s abandoned again with John and Dan, a bothersome silence expanding around them.

Much to his surprise, John slips his hand under the table, searching for Roger’s fingers. When Roger spins his head to stare at him, there isn’t any expression on his face, no worry or flushed cheeks or annoyance for Dan’s presence.

A lump grows in Roger’s throat, insecurity invading him, and he’s only able to send Dan a look. His friend doesn’t understand at first, delicately furrowing his eyebrows at him, but a few seconds later he has to repress a smile, recognizing the agitation in Roger.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Helies, standing up so fast that he nearly knocks his drink over.

As soon as he fades away, mingling with the rest of clients, John releases a nervous sigh. Or maybe a sigh of relief, Roger doesn’t distinguish it. He squeezes John’s hand, however, and feels like laughing out of the blue. But John doesn’t say anything. He just keeps their hands together, in silence, glancing at Roger like he’s a new undiscovered specimen.

Roger’s skin itches, not in a bad way. It’s the excitement travelling along his body, his limbs,John’s warmth swelling and infecting all of him.

“Holding hands is nice, but I seriously want you to hold something else,” Roger whispers, half joking, half serious.

He’s expecting John to hit him, but the boy simply snickers at the insinuation and protests with a low, “Roger!”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, though he doesn’t regret having put a smile on John’s face. How long has it been since John looked this happy? “I had to.”

It’s evident John doesn’t mind that much. He leans his head on Roger’s shoulder, and Roger shivers at how his hair tickles his neck. Even if they snuggled days ago and felt their bodies pressed against each other, it’s little gestures like this one which turn Roger world upside down.

“I don’t want to be here,” John reveals, a tinge of shyness seeping through his voice. He laughs a breathy laugh bit before adding, “I want to be at home. With you.”

If John had punched him in the stomach, it would have had the same effect. For a moment, Roger is frozen, too dumbstruck to digest the suggestion. He was certain that it was up to John to take the next step, but now that he has done, a part of him doesn’t believe it. “You’re getting my hopes up.”

John detaches himself just to gaze at him, still from up close, with a childish, pure smile that blooms on his lips. He brushes Roger’s hair out of his eyes, fingertips fondly caressing him, and assures, “You should get your hopes up.”

Whatever that veiled protocol they have says, Roger doesn’t obey it. Perhaps kissing in a bar isn’t the most romantic occasion, but it’s clear John doesn’t care: when Roger leans forward, seizing his lips,John responds without missing a beat, grabbing the back of his head. Roger remembers the chaste peck that John granted him long ago, but that’s far from what John does now. He’s the first to part his lips, the first to lick into Roger’s mouth, the first to moan when Roger tugs at his tongue in the right way. He grips Roger’s head, not allowing him any break, and groans, lurching to nip his lower lip.

John’s lips aren’t decorous by the time they pull apart. They are red and swollen, and he’s panting slightly, chest moving heavily. That’s a sight Roger can’t bear, and before he makes an even more daring move, John is already sliding his slender fingers between Roger’s legs. There’s no trace of shame in the way he touches Roger’s crotch, prodding fingers feeling his half hard cock through the jeans.

“Shit, John,” he protests, though he’s not exactly displeased. He laughs a hoarse laughter, and reminds him, “Let’s go home first.”

Despite how logical that request is, John grumbles, “I want to fuck you now.”

Not even in his lewdest scenarios would have Roger imagined John whispering that to him. His legs tremble, his mind becomes blank, and for a long minute, he forgets John deserves better than a cheap bar to have sex. It’s difficult to convince John to stop, especially because Roger’s own hard-on doesn’t let much space for reasoning, but he manages by reminding him that they live nearby.

By the time Roger is fumbling with the keys, John has become impatient enough to push him against the entrance door. Not minding they’re in the street, and any of the neighbors could catch them groping each other right in front of their house, John sucks on his neck from behind, hips caging Roger against the door. At first, Roger laughs, though he can’t tell if it’s because he’s nervous or because the situation is actually funny. But then John shoves him so hard against the door that l Roger yelps in shock, and Roger realizes that it’s not funny at all for the other.

“Open the door, or we’re doing it right here,” John tells him, arms hugging his waist. His lips trace the pattern of Roger’s shoulder muscles, an inevitable path back to his neck. “I’m not joking.”

As though John preferred it that way, he bothers Roger as he unlocks the door, nipping and licking and drawing short pants out of his mouth.Roger isn’t conscious of what’s happening, not when they crash against the couch, lips devouring each other’s and hands tugging at clothes.

By some miracle, they reach John’s bedroom before any of them is completely naked, but it’s Roger who has lost more clothes on the way due to John’s eagerness. There’s no worry, of course, because John drinks in the view of his body, and Roger thinks of himself as important for the first time after in his life. His eyes shine in appreciation, but it’s not only physical: John gazes at him as if he’s the most beautiful person in the world, as if he adores him, and Roger crumbles under the power of that sensation.

John touches him with a familiarity Roger has never found in any other boy. With him, Roger feels secure, protected. He’s not a way of escaping, of rebelling or drowning other harmful thoughts. It seems too good to be true, and as John slides his underwear down, his hard cock curving upwards, Roger doesn’t have time to ponder if he deserves him or not. John wants him, and that’s all that matters.

For once, Roger is pliant and obedient during sex. He begs when John fucks him too slow, when he takes too long preparing him, when John isn’t leaving marks all over him, but he never takes the lead, aware that John needs to have the control for once. They don’t rush, bodies rubbing against each other until there are sweat and low groans, John mumbling arousing words over his neck. And then there are hoarse moans, kisses that became parted, petrified lips open in pleasure, and Roger surrounds John’s hips with his legs, keeping him as close as possible. He doesn’t know who comes first, he’s just full of John, bliss washing over him with every minimal move, and everything is white when Roger comes, John’s voice praising him. And John kisses him sweetly when it comes to an end, panting and laughing, too wrecked to tell him that he loves him.

John is stroking his hair when Roger wakes up, lying on his side, his elbow sinking in the mattress. He smells good, of fresh water and Roger’s shampoo, and compared to him, Roger feels sticky and dirty. In the good sense of the words, however.

“Brian isn’t back yet,” John informs him with a coy smile. He doesn’t draw back, unafraid, and an odd warmth is born in Roger’s stomach. John is staring at him with an adoration that he has never received, at least not in such a bold, direct way. “There’s no rush.”

Roger loses his eyes, limbs relaxing again, and enjoys how John continues caressing him. He treats him with care, in contrast with last night, and Roger loves that sensation, having someone who knows how fragile he can be at times, too.

“Do you regret it?” he asks, after all, because that’s not a crazy idea. John has resisted for months, certain that Roger would walk away after they slept together, and Roger is smart enough to suspect there might still be some of those thoughts left within him.

“No,” John replies right away, almost as if pondering about the question would be offensive. “Don’t be stupid.”

Roger isn’t trying to be stupid, but sometimes it’s hard to get rid of the insecurities that John brings about in him. It’s not his fault, of course, it’s just that he has hurt John so much that Roger feels the duty to make him happy, no matter what, to compensate. As he sits up on the bed, sheets gliding down his torso, John raises a brow at him as a silent question.

“To be honest, I planned to take it slow because I didn’t want to fuck up,” Roger confesses, much to his own embarrassment. He assumed they would have to date for a while before having sex, and even if last night isn’t a mistake, it isn’t an ideal situation either. “But we skipped a few steps, I think.”

Instead of agreeing with him, John immediately scoffs, a grin plastered on his face. For some reason, Roger already predicts the words before John confirms them. “We are going to take it slow,” he whispers, pushing Roger so that he rests back on the bed. Then, he drapes a leg over him and sits onto him, hands pressed on Roger’s abdomen. The other can’t help but to observe how pretty John looks on top of him, bathed in the morning light, with that mischievous smile perched on his lips. “Consider this your farewell to sex in a while.”

John keeps his promise, much to Roger’s dismay. And that’s not his only problem, because as soon as Brian is told they are dating – which happens on the same day they start, thanks to John’s inability to lie – he becomes grumpy. Of course, Roger has his own strategies to lure Brian, some that don’t imply playing the pitiful card, but imply being nice to him. This change of manners seem to amuse John, however, who doesn’t waste a second to pinch his cheeks or coo at them when Roger tries to snuggle Brian on the couch, or makes breakfast for him, or gives him loud kisses on the cheek.

As if not being able to touch John whenever and however Roger wants to wasn’t torturous enough, he has to deal with Anita and Brian being mushy all over the apartment. It’s also burdensome that the four of them have, to begin with, the exact same date for future anniversaries.

“Should we break up then?” John jokes when Roger points it out childishly. “We can break up today and start dating tomorrow. Does my boy want his own anniversary that much?”

It’s way different to be treated as John’s boyfriend rather than as his friend. While John has always been tender and caring to his friends, his gestures towards Roger turn more physical. My boy sounds intimate, not just tender. When John runs his fingers through his hair, Roger can’t help but to lean into his touch; they are different persons when they are together, or at least Roger is. His armor is down if John’s lips brush against his, if John buys him a gift by surprise because it reminded me of you, but Roger is suddenly aware of how bad he is at relationships. He has no idea of how to express his feelings, how to show John that he loves him.

John seems to understand he’s struggling, anyhow. He’s the first to approach him when Roger lingers around in hesitation, afraid of crossing the lines, the first one to introduce himself as Roger’s boyfriend when Roger isn’t sure if they’re that official. The only way Roger can verbalize his gratitude is by revealing his secrets to John, on those nights in which Anita and Brian decide to spend the night at Anita’s , and Roger isn’t afraid to be heard. John never comments on his stories, he limits himself to stroke his hair, face, jaw, and smiles at him when Roger stutters, tongue tied. He listens until Roger has run out of words

With that lack of reaction, Roger is beyond shocked when John returns from class one afternoon, kisses him on the mouth as a greeting, and slips a card next to the bowl of cereal Roger is eating. When he peeks at the card, he immediately freezes, and it’s difficult to stare at John as he sits by his side, a relaxed smile on his face.

Although Roger recognizes what the card is about, he still asks, “What is this?”

John doesn’t display any sign of worry, almost like he expects the question. “Therapy,” he confirms.

Roger should have predicted this would happen, sooner or later. Believing his problems would fade away by themselves is irrational, and believing John would be able to make them vanish is even worse. As if Roger hadn’t put enough pressure on the relationship from the beginning.

He’s aware John only means well and is trying to help him, yet the words escape Roger’s mouth before he realizes they might hurt John, “Do I bother you... when I tell you about my life?”

As he dares to look up at John, he finds him with his mouth half open, petrified. It proves his sincerity, his pure intentions, how much Roger doesn’t deserve him.

“Rog, I love you. You could never bother me,” he whispers in incredulity. He snatches the card from Roger’s hand, eyebrows furrowed, probably pondering about what he did wrong. His fingers hook around it, bending the corners, a hint of embarrassment for what he has tried.

Uneasy, Roger begins, “I didn’t m-”

“But there are things you aren’t telling me,” John cuts him off, eyes avoiding Roger’s , a knot in his throat. “Things that you can’t tell me, for some reason, even if you want to.”

John is right, as always. He’s the rock Roger leans on when he can’t walk anymore, the person who holds his hand when he needs it, when no one else has realized he’s about to crumble down. He’s there if Roger is lost, unable to know what’s better for him, like a light that leads him to the exit he has been searching for years. Roger is aware he can’t trust himself sometimes, that certain thoughts invade him and pull him towards destruction; when he reaches for the card, it’s not because he doesn’t want to upset John. It’s because he has to, if he wishes to become a better boyfriend, someone who won’t hurt himself or others. Once, Roger told John he wasn’t broken, but both of them knew it was a lie.

John allows him to observe the card, cautious. It’s difficult for Roger to admit he needs the therapy, so they stay in silence for a few seconds, until Roger asks, “How did you find it?”

Roger doesn’t flinch away when John scoots closer to brush his bangs out of his eyes. It’s a small gesture, but there’s so much tenderness in how John touches him that Roger feels sheltered. Loved.

“My mother has a few friends who work in the field,” he explains, smiling as John glances at him.

The shock that takes over Roger isn’t consequence of how John may have revealed his problems to someone else. He wouldn’t. But then an idea is born in his mind, and as crazy as it seems for him, he still mutters, “Your mother knows I exist?”

Mildly amused at the quick change of topic, and perhaps at Roger’s skeptical expression, John replies, “If you’re asking if she know I’m dating you, yes, they do.”

The concept is so foreign to him, so odd that Roger is only able to stare at John in surprise. He has never been the type that one would introduce to his parents, “I can’t believe you talk about me to your mum.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” John defies him, cheeky. He traces Roger’s nose with his index finger, grinning like an idiot, tearing a smile out of Roger too. “You’re perfect. Anyone would show off.”

They should have realized the moment was too sureal for them, and therefore Brian has to step into the kitchen in that exact second, face giving away that he has listened at least part of that sappy conversation.

“When is the wedding?” he mocks them, walking past them to get a yoghurt from the fridge. He’s in his pajamas, and considering the kind of things Roger has heard him tell Anita in the past weeks, Brian isn’t in any position to be making fun of them.

John groans, bothered by the interruption, “Shut up, Brian.”

However, none of them separate a single inch from each other while Brian is present, no trace of embarrassment for their behavior.Roger holds back the need of kissing John until Brian is out of the kitchen, however, leaving them alone again; but John must have the same idea, because all of a sudden Johns mouth is on his.

“Thank you,” Roger mutters in a low voice. For the therapy. For caring about him. For believing in him. But John already knows all of that, and he has assured Roger a thousand times that he isn’t doing him any favor. Roger still has to learn that some acts are completely altruistic, and John will never ask for something in return.

“You’re welcome,” John whispers, breath caressing Roger’s lips. Threading his fingers in his hair, weighing his silence, he displays the beginning of a smirk, “Are you going to cry?”

Although Roger was, indeed, a bit sensitive a second ago, he moans at the teasing. It’s shameful how easily John could make him cry, since Roger isn’t used to get neither praises nor abrupt I love you’s. “Fuck you,” he whines.

John hums, lips slightly touching Roger’s , “I thought you would never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hated writing this, it took way too of my energy and to be honest i don’t really like it all that much. do y’all like it idk
> 
> (my tumblr is ‘blue-beaut’ um if ye want)


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